As a poet and a romantic, I have immortalized in flowery verse the charms both corporeal and spiritual of many women. Yet when | Open my mouth to sing the praises of Priscilla, I find - hard as this might be to conceive - that my throat constricts, words turn to meal in my mouth, and all elaborate turns of speech seem artificial and empty when compared to the natural beauty, talent, sensitivity and intellect nature has bestowed her.
Priscilla (or Callonetta, the stage name under which she gained artistic renown) was, around the time of our storys beginning, enjoying the last stop on a triumphal tour of concerts that had taken her from the sumptuous courts of Lan Exeter and Pont Wanis, through Tretogor and , finally bringing her to the glorious city of Novigrad.
Once he had found my Callonetta, Geralt had an opportunity to witness first-hand her beauty and numerous talents - for it was her fertile mind that birthed the play which then ingeniously lured out our elusive doppler friend, Dudu.
News that Priscilla had fallen Victim to a brutal attack hit me like a landslide of avalanches. Why someone would possibly want to harm such an innocent creature was a complete mystery to me.